


Fuck the Police

by iksnilits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Crack, Handcuffs, Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor, policeman!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iksnilits/pseuds/iksnilits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, really, fuck the police. </p><p>In which Benny gets Dean drunk, Dean causes trouble, and Cas is the arresting officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Axephiel, who is fab and inspired this. 
> 
> Un-beta'd.

“You need to get drunk,” Benny declared, flicking the television off and effectively ending Dean’s post-breakup tradition of Star Trek and spiked cocoa. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” said Dean irratibly. “I didn’t even like her that much. She wiped her Dorito fingers on Baby’s carpet.”

“Huh,” Benny said. “Could’ve sworn you were wallowing in self-pity not five minutes ago. Go shower. You smell like something crawled up your ass and died.”

“Oh, you,” Dean snarked, levering himself out of the sunken couch cushions. “Such a way with words.”

“And wear something without jizz on it,” Benny yelled after him. “We’re going out.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Dean shouted back down the stairs.

+++

One hour later, Dean found himself in Seattle’s newest club, sweating, miserable, and definitely not drunk enough. Truthfully, he wasn’t too distraught about Angie breaking up with him. Sure, he usually did the breaking-up, but it had been a long time coming and he would have done it first, had she not beaten him to it.

“I feel like such a fucking hipster in these pants,” he complained to Benny. “Who even likes corduroy, anyway? Touching it makes my skin hurt. This is your fault; you didn’t do laundry yesterday.”

“Quit whinin’; start drinkin’,” Benny said, pushing Dean’s glass toward him. 

“Really, how is this helping anyone,” Dean groused. “I mean, thanks for the booze, man, but…”

He trailed off as a tall blonde toppled into Benny’s broad chest, wobbling on her heels and blushing. 

“Wanna dance?” she asked Benny, who looked to Dean. 

“Love to, darlin’, but my friend here just got dumped an’ I gotta see that he gets good and drunk.”

“Jesus, just go,” Dean said exasperatedly. “By the time you get back, I’ll be smashed and we can go from there. And it was a _mutual decision_. No dumping involved. None.”

The blonde nodded knowingly. “Right,” Benny said. “Thanks, brother.” 

He led the girl over to the dance floor, and Dean turned back to the bar, signaling for a refill. 

+++

Eight shots and half an hour later, Benny isn’t back, but Dean has made two equally drunk new friends. 

“She didn’t like Zeppelin,” Dean said, focusing very hard on moving his lips. “She listened to Justin Bieber, an’ I think that’s when I knew I could never give her the beautiful gift of children.”

His friends nodded understandingly, and the one with the tortoiseshell glasses rubbed his back. 

“S’okay, man. We’ve all been there. Next round’s on me.”

“To classic rock,” the guy in the flannel said somberly, raising his glass and bowing his head. 

“To classic rock,” Dean and Glasses echoed, and did alcohol always taste this watery? Dean realized that he was much more drunk than he’d previously thought. Much drunker? More drunken?

“I wanna dance,” he said, clambering off his barstool and almost crushing the woman next to him. “Dancing. Is fun.”

“You do what makes you happy, man,” Flannel said sagely. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding like a bobblehead. “Okay. I’m gonna go dance now.”

+++

“Sir, you need to get down,” the bartender yelled, grabbing at Dean’s ankle, and Dean neatly dodged his hand.

“Nope,” he slurred cheerfully. “No can do. It’s fun up here.” 

“ _Jesus_ ,” the bartender said, swiping for Dean’s legs again, missing, and Dean giggled triumphantly. He got in a good three minutes more of bar-top dancing before he noticed a policeman glaring at him from the ground, arms crossed over his dark blue uniform. 

“Get down _now_ ,” the man said, and Dean shivered, because he’d had sex that was less hot than that voice. 

“Hel- _lo_ , officer,” he said, and waggled his fingers in front of his nose. 

The policeman just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by Dean’s best seductive pout, and glared some more. 

“Ugh, fine,” Dean huffed, and almost broke his nose trying to slither off the bar-top. 

Dean knew he was being ridiculous, that he’d be mortified tomorrow morning when he remembered what he’d done, but his hands were moving of their own accord over the officer’s chest. 

“Hey…Cas,” Dean said, peering at the nameplate pinned over the uniform pocket. “You gonna arrest me, huh?” He slid his palms down, over tight muscle and wrinkled cotton and tucked his fingertips into Cas’s snug waistband. 

“Stop moving,” the policeman growled, low in his ear, and Dean realized he was pinned face-first against the bar with his hands trapped behind his back. He wiggled, trying to get out of the policeman’s strong grip. 

“Hey,” Dean said, surprised. “How’d you do that?”

“For one thing, you are severely inebriated,” Cas said, and Dean felt the cool scrape of metal along his wrist. Shivers rolled down his spine, the rough heat of Cas’s voice combining deliciously with the hard steel restraining his hands. 

“Are you handcuffing me? Kinky,” Dean purred, and pushed his hips back, throwing in a couple rolls and a slow grind down and back up the policeman’s trousers.

“Stop trying to molest me,” Cas said, annoyed, but Dean could hear the catch in his voice.

“Is it working?” said Dean, and smirked when Cas didn’t answer. “You’ve got me cuffed up, I can’t go anywhere. Might as well make the most of it, officer.”

The connection between Dean’s brain and his vocal cords had been severed somewhere around the sixth shot, he suspected. And while he knew that propositioning a police officer while already handcuffed was not the best way to avoid being thrown in jail for a night, he was too fucking turned on and drunk to stop.

Cas hadn’t said anything, and Dean took that as a sign to continue.

“You’re real good at pinning me down. Probably could keep me on the ground even when I’m not drunk. Bet you’d like that, huh? Cuff me down with those handcuffs and hold my hips down with those big hands? Do whatever you want to me.” 

“Fuck,” he heard Cas breathe behind him, and he was tugged back from the bar, Cas’s hands on his shoulder and upper arm. 

“Listen,” Cas said, as he manhandled Dean out of the club. “You’re embarrassingly drunk. You’re also disrupting the peace, so I’m taking you to the station. Is there someone that can retrieve you?” 

“Yep,” Dean said. “Benny’ll come. He’s gonna be so proud. He probably didn’t even think I was gonna get drunk, and here I am, arrested. Awesome.” 

Cas sighed, scribbling something on a scrap of paper, and straightened his badge. 

“If you still want—all that—when you’re sober, call me.”

“ _Excellent_ ,” Dean said, and reached around with his cuffed wrists for a grope at the officer’s pants. Cas dodged his fingers and shoved him gently into the back of the police car. 

Dean giggled happily, and made seductive faces at Cas in the rearview mirror for the whole ride to the station.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean wakes up and realizes he has made some questionable choices.

It’s a testament to how much Dean’s had to drink that he’s still completely wasted when they pull up to the station. 

Cas opens the rear door for him, since he’s still handcuffed, and Dean suddenly realizes how important arms are to balancing. 

“Woop,” he squawks, and topples face-first into the wet grass. Dean makes a valiant attempt to get up, but everything is spinning a little too fast so he just flails around helplessly. 

“Hey, you should come down here with me,” Dean mumbles around his mouthful of grass. “We can look at the stars. It’ll be romantic and then I won’t feel as guilty when we fuck later, because we’ll have shared a meaningful moment first.” 

“Easy there, Nicholas Sparks,” Cas laughs, and hefts Dean to his feet. Dean sways forward into the policeman’s chest, resting his head in the warm crook of Cas’s neck. Okay, so he might be playing up his drunkenness a little bit. 

“Mm, you smell nice,” he hums. “Like sweat and laundry detergent. But in a good way. In a really good way.” Dean grinds down on Cas’s leg, which is bent out to support him, and he must do Ironman triathlons or something, because Dean can feel the individual cords of muscle under the thin fabric of his uniform. 

What started out as a half-boner perks up to a mildly embarrassing hard-on—still quite respectable, given how much Dean’s had to drink. 

Cas clears his throat and holds Dean out at arms’ length. “I think your friend has arrived,” Cas says, sounding pained, and sure enough, there’s Benny. 

“Hafta’ say, I’m not even mad,” Benny says. 

“Told you he’d be proud,” Dean smirks, throwing a conspiratorial wink to Cas. 

“He should be kept on a leash at all times,” Cas says, shaking his head. 

“Wow, that’s some really kinky shit, Cas. I’m not normally into that, but I can make an exception for you.” Dean leers up at Cas alluringly and trips over himself, falling toward Benny. 

“Wow,” Benny says, relieving Cas of his armful of drunken Dean. “Time to go to sleep, brother.”

Cas just laughs incredulously and undoes Dean’s handcuffs. 

“Wait, Cas, wait, you hafta’ keep these,” Dean slurs. “These are _our_ handcuffs now. You have to keep them for when you fuck me later. We’ve made memories in these handcuffs. Don’t let them go.” He pats Cas’s shoulder in what he hopes is a convincing way. Benny looks like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh. Or throw up. One of the two. 

“I can’t wait ‘til you wake up tomorrow morning,” Benny says, and manhandles him into the truck. 

+++

After Dean forcibly peels his tongue off the roof of his mouth and splashes his face, he feels a little better. His head hurts so fucking badly and sharp movements feel like the worst kind of torture. 

“What the _fuck_ , Benny,” he groans, and Benny leans around the doorjamb, grinning wildly. Dean has a sinking feeling that he’s not going to like what he remembers—

“Oh, no, no, _no_ ,” he starts desperately, cringing his way through one horrifying recollection after another. “Jesus fuck, motherfucking cock on a stick, what the hell, man? This is your fault. This is all your fault.”

Benny shakes his head, snickering. “Poor Dean. Always the victim. Pretty sure it wasn’t _me_ making you beg a cop to put you on a leash and fuck you seven ways to Sunday.”

“It’s nine,” Dean says. 

“What?” 

“Nine. Nine ways to Sunday. But—not the point. Why the hell didn’t you stop me? I _danced on the bar_. I sang along to ‘I Just Died in Your Arms’. I didn’t even know I knew the _words_ to that fucking song.”

Benny coughs, looking slightly guilty. “I mighta’ been distracted. Just a little. Sorry, man. You looked like you were having fun, and, you know, you just got dumped and I thought you deserved it.”

“That blond chick? That was your distraction? Man, I hate you right now. I hate you so much.” 

“Who came and got you from the police station and had to listen to you sexually assault a cop, huh? I’ll make pancakes. Let me know when you’re done with your identity crisis.”

Dean covers his eyes and crumples to the floor melodramatically. 

+++

What the hell was that all about? He didn’t even _like_ men. Sure, he could appreciate the beauty of the male form. And there was that one time in college. 

But _everyone_ has ‘that one time in college’. So really, it doesn’t count. 

And that other time, after Sam’s wedding, with the two guys Sam played rugby with—

and the night of Benny’s cousin’s bachelor party, after all those body shots—

Okay. _Fine_. 

But he definitely wasn’t down for being put on a leash, for fuck’s sake. 

His corduroy pants were encrusted with some glittery purple crap, and he peeled them off, flakes dusting the tiles. Dean shoved his hands in the pockets, half-terrified of what he might find, and pulled out the scrap of paper Cas had written his number on. 

Huh. He must not have been too obnoxious, then. He tossed the paper on top of his bio-hazard qualifying pants and stepped into the shower.

Why had Cas even given him his number? Dean had been ridiculous. If he’d been Cas, he would have punched himself in the face and duct-taped his mouth shut. 

Maybe that was part of being a good policeman, though. Not punching people when they come on to you. 

And he’d been coming on to Cas really, _really_ hard. He couldn’t even think about some of the shit he’d said without cringing in extreme embarrassment. 

He soaped up his chest with Benny’s [Manly Man soap](http://www.seattlesundries.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=6)—if it had been anyone else, he’d have made a joke about overcompensating, but Benny really was that manly. It was kind of emasculating, really, standing next to him. 

His wrists were fucking sore, and he could see a faint ring of bruises around each. 

Fuck. That was actually really hot. He rubbed his soapy palm down his stomach, remembering how Cas had pressed him down on the bar, holding him there with his hips while he snapped the cuffs on Dean’s wrists. Dean soaped up his thighs, enjoying the familiar rush of blood as he imagined Cas holding him face-down into soft white sheets, hands behind his back and completely incapable of getting up, Cas’s big hands smoothing up his thighs and pressing fingerprint bruises into his skin—

Wait, was he seriously about to jerk off to the policeman? And _handcuffs_? _I’m confusing reality with porn again_ , he thought. 

Dean didn’t really have a problem with that, though.

+++

Dean felt like maybe it would be kinda rude not to call Cas. After all the shit he’d put the poor guy through, it would be polite. He at least owed him an apology, right?

_Hey, sorry I verbally assaulted you and rubbed my ass on you and propositioned you for some light BDSM and then jerked off to you in the shower._

Yeah. That would be a fun conversation. 

Dean picked up the slightly damp paper and brushed the purple glitter off. 

_Please go to voicemail, please go to voicemail,_ he prayed fervently. 

_“Hello, Castiel Novak speaking.”_

Well, shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean gets his act together and there is a significant amount of porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, porn warning I guess-
> 
> this is about 80% smut? warnings for light BDSM (handcuffs), bottom!dean, dirty talk, and vague talk of rimming
> 
> I think I covered it? let me know if I need to add something!
> 
> *whispers* first time writing smut so be gentle with me
> 
> constructive criticism/comments would be appreciated!

“Hey, this is Dean. Winchester? Um. You…arrested me last night?”

Cas laughs. “ _How could I forget?_ ”

“Hah,” Dean says weakly. “Right, well. I was way out of line, and I wanted to apologize for—you know.”

“ _Apologize for what, Dean?_ ” Cas asks innocently. 

“Don’t make me say it, you asshole,” Dean laughs, and the awkward tension is somewhat alleviated. 

“ _How are you feeling?_ ” Cas asks, and weirdly enough, he actually sounds interested in Dean’s answer, not just like he’s posing the question out of politeness. 

“Like fermented shit,” Dean answers truthfully, and then winces because that was probably the least sexy answer possible. 

To his credit, Cas just chuckles, and the deep rumble sends warm shivers along Dean’s spine. 

“ _Would you be interested in getting coffee with me tomorrow morning? I work an afternoon shift on Sundays, but I’ve been meaning to try that new place on Cedar._ ”

Dean blinks, surprised. “You haven’t had enough of my shit yet?”

“ _At least I know I won’t be bored,_ ” Cas teases, and Dean finds himself grinning. 

“Yeah, coffee sounds good. Seven okay?”

“ _Excellent,_ ” Cas says. “ _I look forward to it, Dean. Don’t forget to hydrate._ ”

Dean hangs up, slightly in shock that he managed to avoid a potential train wreck of a phone call and, somehow, get a date with a cop he essentially assaulted. 

“The promise of fucking _awesome_ sex hung in the air,” he told his reflection, winking into the mirror.

+++

“So you’re gay now?” Benny says over Dean’s signature stir-fry dinner.

“I think of myself as an equal-opportunity lover,” Dean replies, jamming a huge chunk of broccoli in his mouth. 

“Huh,” Benny says. “Can’t believe I’ve known you for five years an’ didn’t know that.”

Dean puts his fork down. “Wait, you didn’t know? What about that time at Jackson’s bachelor party, when his friend was basically taking shots out of my ass?” 

Benny looks sick. “I shouldn’t have brought this up at dinner,” he mumbles, looking at his noodles. “Just don’t leave your dildos on the kitchen table. Or your leashes.”

Dean glares across the table, where Benny is smirking.

“Jesus, you’re _never_ going to let that go, are you,” he sighs. 

“Nope,” Benny says, and flicks broccoli at him. 

+++

Dean’s kind of nervous, which is ridiculous because he’s been on a million coffee dates (all of which ended in sex). Not that he’s especially promiscuous. Sex is fun, that’s all. 

He’s made sure there’s no embarrassing clumps of hair anywhere, painstakingly picked the purple glitter out of his eyebrows, and double-checked for jizz stains on his pants. You can never be too careful. 

He pulls up to the coffee place—‘Babs’ Bean Emporium’—and sees Cas crouched on the sidewalk, dressed in his tight blue uniform and scratching the ears of a dog that’s waiting for its owner. Dean’s stomach does a weird little flip and he saunters over, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey, Cas,” he says, grinning down at the policeman through the clouds of dog hair. 

“Dean!” Cas stands, smiling big and wide and his biceps pull the sleeves of his uniform tight as he wipes his hands. “Hope you’re feeling better.”

Dean coughs. “Yep. Much better. More—ah—in control of things.”

“Good,” Cas smiles, looking downright predatory. “Coffee?”

Cas orders something complicated with hazelnuts and cinnamon, smiling apologetically at the harried barista, but she must not have minded too much because her number’s scrawled across the cup when she hands it back. 

Dean blames it on the way Cas’s hair stands up on its own, soft and messy like he rolled around in bed and didn’t bother to fix it and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that turn up when he smiles. Well, and the tight uniform. That might have something to do with it. Dean scowls at the little heart she drew, and they take their cups outside to the little patio. 

Dean chokes a little bit on his first sip. 

“ _Jesus_ , what _is_ this,” he says disgustedly, scraping his tongue with his teeth. 

“This is possibly the worst coffee I have ever had,” Cas whispers, swallowing and looking pained. 

“Want to get out of here?” Dean says, leaning in a little and nudging Cas’s forearm with his own. 

“Yes, I think I would,” Cas says, pretending to give it a moment’s thought, then grinning so dangerously that Dean is almost scared. But he gets over it, because Cas’s ass in those pants is a thing of rare beauty.

+++

Dean’s immediately pinned to the wall, Cas’s lips pressed to his neck and his hands shoving Dean’s jacket off. 

“Wanted you since I saw you dancing on the bar,” Cas growls, nipping the skin under Dean’s jaw and soothing it with a soft kiss. 

Dean lets out a groan— _fuck_ , he could probably get off just by Cas growling filth in his ear. “Yeah? What did you wanna do to me?”

Cas pulls back from where he’s sucking kisses into Dean’s neck—“Thought about taking you home with me, cuffing you up in my bed, making your pretty mouth all red, licking you open all wet and sloppy and begging for me. Seeing how far I can drag it out. What about you, Dean? What did you want me to do to you?”

Cas punctuates every suggestion with a harsh roll of his hips, rough and hard through their pants. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. “Yes. All of the above.”

“Bedroom’s this way,” Cas says, and takes advantage of Dean’s slack mouth to bite his lower lip, smoothing over it with his tongue. He drops his hands from Dean abruptly, stepping back to lead the way, his uniform pants pulled tight across the front. 

Dean trips over himself trying to get his shoes off, and manages to get down to his underwear before they get to Cas’s room. He’s overcome with the need to feel Cas’s skin against his, hot and slick. But Cas just pulls him in for another sharp kiss and pushes his boxers down, and Cas is still completely clothed. 

Dean can’t decide whether that’s ridiculously hot or embarrassing that he’s naked and Cas is still in his uniform. 

His dick seems to lean toward the _ridiculously hot_ side of things. 

Cas smiles, all teeth, and pushes him down on the huge bed, the jersey cotton sheets rumpled and unmade.

Cas dips his head down, and Dean has to tilt his head back to kiss him. Cas rests his fingers in the hollow of Dean’s throat as he licks into his mouth, runs his fingertips down the line of his jaw, cups firmly around his neck and scrapes his fingernails through the short hair at the back of Dean’s head. Dean’s overwhelmed with sensation, practically shivering at how good Cas’s hands feel on him, but he still needs more. 

“Cas,” he gets out between kisses, “you all talk or you still got those handcuffs, huh?”

He sees Cas shudder, his hips jolting up into the space between them. 

“Turn over,” Cas orders, and Dean complies, his erection swelling between his legs, thick and heavy and starting to bead up precome. The metal jingles thinly, and then Cas swipes Dean’s arms out from under him, pulling them behind his back and snapping the cool metal around his wrists. 

Cas’s hands are warm on Dean’s shoulders, grounding, and Dean shivers at the contrast. He feels Cas start to press kisses into his back, soft and slow, one hand dipping between his legs to tease him, feather-light touches and strokes.

Dean’s face is mashed into the bed, his hands up behind him and he’s on his knees, totally exposed and he should feel humiliated, embarrassed that Cas is dressed and he’s incapable of sitting up, but Cas’s kisses are reassuring and his sheets smell like cinnamon and cedar wood and he’s harder than he’s ever been in his entire life, so he stops thinking about it and focuses on the way Cas is working his way down his back.

“You’re beautiful, Dean,” Cas says, low in his throat. Dean has to strain to hear him. “All spread out for me, letting me do this to you. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

He bites some kisses into Dean’s skin, sharp and rough, presses open-mouth kisses over them and licks until they’re soothed and Dean feels each one, knows his back will be painted with bruises tomorrow, all Cas-shaped. 

Cas is palming those huge hands over his ass now, squeezing handfuls tight and roughing him up, drawing blood to the surface and his kisses there send hot shocks of sensation to his dick. Cas kisses down his thigh, back up, down the other, sucking marks all along the crease of his leg and licking up, up, up to the heavy weight of his balls and fuck, he’s running his tongue around Dean’s ass, light, he’s such a fucking tease, pressing a big finger to Dean’s hole, not going in but just resting while his mouth does filthy things to Dean’s rubbed-hot skin. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says, and it comes out high and broken. “Please, come on—“ 

He can imagine Cas behind him, neat and orderly from the toes up, then messy and flushed from kissing Dean everywhere, his mouth red and wet and his eyes dark and deliciously hooded. Dean hears the swish of a zipper, scrape of fabric on skin, and Cas lays his big palms on Dean’s ass again, stretching him wide. 

“You get so pink,” Cas says, wondrous, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. “So pretty, you should see yourself.”

Dean’s about ready to beg, he’s so worked up and Cas hasn’t touched his dick for so long, he can’t rub against the bed because Cas yanks his hips up every time he tries and he’s a minute away from sobbing _fuck me, please, please_ , into the sheets. 

He feels the hot weight of Cas’s dick resting between his cheeks, rubbing slow over his hole, and the skin drags over Cas’s drying spit. Dean arches his back up into it, knows exactly what he looks like but he doesn’t fucking care anymore.

Cas’s breath hitches, and his hands are gone for one shaky second, Dean’s skin cooling where they left, but then there’s a slick finger pushing into him, so good and not enough, and Dean pushes back frantically. 

“You’ll get what you need,” Cas says, rubbing his other hand over Dean’s back, down his thigh, a quick tease of fingertips over his leaking dick and back up to rest between his shoulderblades.

One finger is good, two sends him panting, three is a burn and he’s overwhelmed for a second but Cas’s hand is still on his back, holding him down and safe and it’s okay, and when Cas finally, finally slicks up and pushes in agonizingly slow, it’s better than anything. 

The sheets are wet beneath Dean’s face and he doesn’t know if it’s with tears or sweat but Cas feels so good inside him, impossibly hot and big and he can feel the rough edge of Cas’s zipper scratching the backs of his thighs and the sticky-smooth slide of his skin on Dean’s ass, can feel Cas’s grip get tighter around his forearms right above the handcuffs when Dean rolls his hips back up. 

His dick is slapping up and down between his legs, dripping wet lines on the sheets. Cas pulls his hips back up, palms his ass and digs his thumbs in, rubs around Dean’s hole and reaches back down to give his aching dick a quick pull. Dean almost sobs with relief at how good it is, Cas’s palm hot and slick around him. 

“Look at you, so good, so fucking gorgeous, you look so good, Dean, _fuck_ ,” Cas growls almost unintelligibly, his words getting tighter. Dean’s close, has been for a while from Cas’s cock hitting all the spots inside him that he can never find on his own, and his body tenses along with Cas’s as he feels Cas get closer, his thrusts erratic and shaky. 

Dean’s pushing up into Cas’s tight hand, back onto his cock, frantically chasing the white-hot edge, and he’s trembling with the effort and the waves of pleasure running through him. He can feel Cas swell up, incredibly hard inside him and Cas scrapes his teeth along Dean’s shoulder, letting out a broken sound into Dean’s skin, tightening his fist around Dean’s cock. Dean is so fucking close as he vaguely feels Cas pulse inside him, shuddering on top of him, and it’s the way that Cas presses an exhausted, shaky kiss into his back that sends him over, so intense that he can’t breathe for a second, shooting all over the sheets and Cas’s hand and shaking with the effort to stay on his knees. 

Cas pulls out gingerly and uncuffs Dean, rubs his wrists and pulls him over to the clean side of the bed, so gentle and slow that Dean’s left in a haze. 

Dean can’t open his eyes, he’s so strung out on the best kind of high and he feels vaguely guilty for being so out of it but the sheets under him are cool and his skin feels hyper-sensitive with the bruises under his cooling sweat. 

Cas smoothes a damp washcloth over him, lifting off their sweat and come and spit and leaving Dean clean under the breeze of the cracked window. 

“Thank you,” he hears Cas say, and feels soft lips drop a kiss on his temple.

Dean musters the energy to open an eye and curls up into Cas, tucking his head into Cas’s shoulder.

“Pretty sure I should be the one thanking you,” he says, muffled against Cas’s skin. 

Cas just smiles, rubbing his hand in circles over the marks on Dean’s back.

“Is this a one-time thing?” Cas asks softly. 

Dean breathes in the warm cinnamon smell of him.

“I would like it not to be,” he says. “Although you may change your mind next time I’m drunk.”

Cas just laughs and shoves him into the soggy spot, and Dean’s grinning so wide that he almost doesn’t care. 

But he wipes a large amount of come-and-lube in Cas’s hair anyway.


End file.
